


It's Oh So Quiet

by Persiflager



Series: It Started Quietly [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-06
Updated: 2012-07-06
Packaged: 2017-11-09 08:04:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/453213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflager/pseuds/Persiflager
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a href="http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/6375.html?thread=29911015"> this prompt</a> on the kinkmeme that asked for John and Lestrade having to be <em>very</em> quiet when they fuck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Oh So Quiet

**Author's Note:**

> SylviaC has very kindly posted a Chinese translation [here.](http://www.allwatson.com/forum.php?mod=viewthread&tid=419&extra=)

John looked surprised when he opened the door. He was barefoot and sleep-rumpled in a faded t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms, and Greg felt a tiny pang of guilt for disturbing him.

“Sherlock’s not here.”

“I know – Molly texted me,” said Greg, already starting to regret the impulse that made him head over to Baker Street instead of going straight home to enjoy a rare evening off. He hadn’t spoken to John since the week before, when ‘having John over to watch the rugby’ had turned into ‘having John over the back of the sofa’, and wasn’t entirely sure what the correct etiquette was after that. Last time he’d done anything like this, the phrase ‘booty call’ hadn’t even been invented. “Can I come in?”

“Ok,” said John, yawning as he stood back to let him in. “Want a drink?”

Greg wondered if ‘drink’ in this context was a euphemism for sex.

“Yeah, wouldn’t mind one.” Perhaps his ex-wife had a point about the importance of communication.

“Right then.” John got halfway towards the kitchen before pausing and turning round and giving Greg an appraising look. 

“You know, you can just say if you fancy a shag.”

_Bollocks to communication_ , thought Greg. He grinned wolfishly and resisted the urge to fist-pump when John gave a slow, knowing smile back.

As he followed John upstairs, Greg couldn’t stop staring at his clearly outlined arse – _oh_ , trust an ex-soldier to go commando - and the narrow strip of bare, tanned skin that was revealed just above the waistband. Their romp the previous weekend had broken an eight-month dry spell and his hands were itching to grab.

The moment Greg got inside John’s room, he shut the door behind him and crowded John up against the wall. He would have felt bad about the yawns that John was stifling if he wasn’t far too busy pressing his body up against him, desperately trying to cover every inch of John’s body with his own. After twelve years of sex with the same person, he’d almost forgotten the sheer electric thrill of just touching someone when their body wasn’t as familiar to you as your own.

Greg pressed his lips lazily against John’s lax mouth, holding firmly onto his hips (one through t-shirt, one slipped under onto bare, warm skin). He kissed him eagerly as his heart raced and his thumbs, almost of their own volition, rubbed teasing circles over John’s hipbones.

Mouthing his way down John’s neck, Greg took a moment to inhale the faintly familiar minty smell of his shower gel before pushing his thigh between John’s legs and against his barely-covered, rapidly-waking-up cock. John gave a faint grunt and gripped the back of Greg’s head, dragging him up for a deep, messy kiss. Greg responded in kind, thrusting his tongue roughly into John’s mouth as he took the opportunity to slide his hands down under his waistband and finally grab two good handfuls of firm, muscular buttocks.

“Good morning,” said John when they eventually broke for breath.

Greg scoffed (though only half-heartedly as he concentrated on groping John’s arse). “It’s half four in the afternoon, you layabout.”

“Busy night,” said John, pushing Greg’s jacket down off his shoulders and starting on his shirt buttons. 

“So I heard,” said Greg as he reluctantly removed his hands from John’s trousers and let his jacket fall to the floor. “Dimmock’s pretty chuffed with you two.” He batted John’s clumsy hands away and stripped his own shirt off with brisk efficiency, followed by the rest of his clothes as John watched with unabashed appreciation.

“Arms up.” He ignored John’s eye-roll, took hold of the bottom of his t-shirt and tugged it up over his head in one smooth move. “That’s better. On the bed.”

John let Greg chivvy him across the room until the backs of his knees hit the bed and he fell backwards onto it.

“You do realise that I’m not actually a child?” said John to the ceiling.

Tugging John’s trousers down and throwing them over his shoulder, Greg sank to his knees and pressed his face between John’s legs.

“Christ no, you’re definitely not,” he said, sighing hot breath against his balls. He took them one at a time into his mouth and sucked gently before licking his way up John’s thick cock with wet, tender stripes. 

Ignoring John’s muttered exclamations and his own neglected erection, he wrapped his lips reverently round the plump, glistening head and sank his mouth down the shaft at a glacial pace. It was half a lifetime since he’d last had the chance to do this and he intended to savour it.

Greg sucked John’s cock sloppily, letting his jaw ache and saliva run down his chin until the background litany of increasingly loud moans and curses was interrupted by the quiet thump of a small plastic bottle landing on the floor beside him. He pulled off with a slurp and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I said, are you actually planning on fucking me at some point today?” said John, leaning up on his elbows and fixing Greg with an aggrieved look.

It occurred to Greg that some people might object to such a tone from a man who’d just been receiving a frankly fantastic blowjob; then again, those people probably wouldn’t have a slick finger buried in the tight heat of John’s arse thirty seconds later.

Greg had John’s cock back down his throat, John’s hands tangled in his hair and a second finger pistoning next to the first when the front door slammed open downstairs followed by a distinctive cry of ‘Bored!’. 

....................

He froze and looked at John, who had raised himself back up on his elbows and was looking down at Greg with a panicked expression.

 _Will he come up?_ mouthed Greg.

John shook his head. _Shower_ , he mouthed before glancing at the door. He tapped his watch and held up an open hand. _Five minutes?_

Greg looked at John’s face, where disappointment mingled with understanding, then down at where two of his knuckles were disappearing into John’s clenched hole, then back up at John with raised eyebrows.

 _Are you kidding me?_ he mouthed. John gave him a crooked grin back.

Dismissing the bed as too creaky, Greg reluctantly pulled his fingers out and pointed down at the carpeted floor. John nodded and began the slow process of gradually lowering himself down to the floor without making a sound.

Greg watched John’s progress doubtfully and breathed a sigh of relief when he heard a noisy rush of water from the bathroom below. John took advantage of the temporary cover to slide fully to the ground while Greg grabbed the condom he’d optimistically placed in his trouser pocket, gave himself a few swift strokes for luck, and rolled it on as quickly as he could manage.

Feeling faintly ridiculous, Greg shuffled round John (who was now lying flat on his left side with one ear to the ground) and lay down behind him.

“Have I told you,” he murmured, conscious that they only had a couple of minutes before the water shut off, “how fantastic your arse is?” Granted, it wasn’t his best effort at sweet talk, but it was still better than the ‘nice cock’ he’d managed the previous week.

John shook with silent laughter which stopped abruptly when Greg smoothed a handful of cold lube up his crack. Greg carefully slid his stiff, condom-covered cock between John’s warm buttocks, bit back a groan at the smooth slide as he rolled his hips forward, and conscientiously reached a hand around to fist John’s heavy erection – shorter than his own but much fatter, smeared and dripping with clear, sticky pre-come. 

He wondered (with trepidation, and no small amount of arousal coiling treacherously at the base of his spine) if John would expect them to reverse roles if they kept doing ... whatever it was they were doing. Should he have offered? Looking at the impatient way John was squirming back against his cock, he was probably quite happy where he was for now.

“Are you going to be able to keep quiet?” he whispered, craning his neck round so that his mouth was next to John’s ear. John paused before shrugging non-committally - not surprising, given the racket he’d made when Greg had taken him the week before.

Glancing round the room, Greg’s gaze landed on his pile of discarded clothing and he managed to reach out and grab his boxer shorts. After a quick sniff-check, he folded them neatly (clean side out) and brought the makeshift gag round to John’s mouth.

The unimpressed face that John pulled would have been hilarious under different circumstances. As it was, Greg gave his best ‘trust me, I’m a policeman’ look until John reluctantly bit into the bundle of cloth. Greg grinned, snagged the lube, slicked his fingers back up and slid two firmly into John’s arse. John bucked in a very satisfying manner, and Greg slipped his left hand underneath to grab John’s hip and hold him still before he resumed his steady finger-fucking.

_This is quite nice,_ he thought as he idly massaged John’s slick arsehole. _I could get used to him being this quiet and non-whingy. I mean, I get it – living with Sherlock must give him lots to complain about - but I can’t say I’m not enjoying the silence._

Judging by the cotton-muffled whimpers, Greg was pretty sure he’d been hitting John’s prostate for a while now. He decided that a third finger would be a waste of time that could be better spent fucking the whininess out of John and nudged his knee forward until John obligingly lifted his leg up. He drew John’s leg higher and further back so that he had a better angle, shuffled back a bit so that he could position the head of his cock at John’s entrance, and took a deep breath.

“Well, that’s why I stopped using arsenic,” came Sherlock’s voice faintly through the floorboards as the noise of the shower stopped. “You should know, John – the health benefits are grossly overrated.”

Startled, Greg misjudged the angle and his cock slid back down John’s slippery crack. He bent round to whisper in John’s ear again.

“He knows you’re awake.”

John shook his head.

“Does he just keep talking when you’re not there?”

John nodded.

“That’s a bit weird.”

John shrugged, and pulled the bundle of cloth out of his mouth. Greg might not be an expert at lip-reading but he could just about manage _Fuck me_. He carefully pushed his pants back into John’s mouth, ignored the gentle babble of Sherlock’s voice through the floorboards, lined himself up again, and pushed in the first inch with a swallowed groan.

_Christ, but that’s nice. Good thing I shut John up, if he’s going to whimper like that._ Greg briefly regretted not fashioning a gag for himself, but decided that it wouldn’t matter – after all, unlike some people, he had self-control. He moved his right hand to John’s hip to steady himself and pushed forward at an achingly slow pace until he bottomed out.

He stayed still for a minute to give them both a chance to adjust (out of politeness for John, and because he was in danger of coming too soon from the tight clench of John’s hot arsehole). When John nodded, one hand slowly stroking himself, Greg slid out a fraction and then slowly back in again. He couldn’t risk the noise of pounding away like he wanted to so he took the time to explore some of the parts of John’s body that were within easy reach while fucking him in teasing, half-inch increments.

Greg stroked one hand up John’s sparsely haired thigh, feeling the muscles that had so surprised him the week before skimming up to caress one of his small, hard nipples (which earned him a muffled whine). He noticed that John was stretching out and realised that he was getting leverage, with one of his hands braced against the side of the bed and a foot braced against the wall.

“Clever boy,” he breathed against John’s ear, which earned him a glare that clearly said _get on with it, then._

He put his hand back on John’s hip to steady himself before pulling out a couple of inches for a small but decisive thrust. John shoved back to meet him with unexpected force, and it was only by sinking his teeth deep into John’s (thankfully unscarred) shoulder that he managed to avoid yelling out with how _fucking_ good it felt. 

He withdrew as much as he could bear before snapping his hips forward again. The strength of the thrust was no longer a surprise and they quickly got into a steady rhythm that made John’s thighs tremble and Greg’s balls draw up in arousal. Greg suddenly realised that he wasn’t going to last long – with a flash of regret, he swore to himself that next time (and when had he decided that there was going to be a next time?) they’d take their time and do things properly. He reached round to where John was pulling fervently at his wet, swollen cock and wrapped his long fingers over John’s stubby ones, increasing the pace as the tight, bright feeling coalesced in his balls.

Burying his face in the crook of John’s neck, he urged him on with frantic movements as his own orgasm began to barrel down on him. His hips broke into a stuttering rhythm as John’s hips bucked wildly, and he slammed forward and came with a stifled groan as warm semen finally flooded over his hand.

....................

They lay in peaceful, post-orgasmic lassitude for a minute until John spat out the spit-soaked boxers and Greg reluctantly withdrew to dispose of the condom. He carefully tied it off, stretched over to the bin and dropped it noiselessly in.

A soft snore told him that John had fallen asleep again, stark-bollock naked on his bedroom floor. With a roll of his eyes, Greg slowly pulled the duvet down off the bed and draped it over John’s sleeping form before beginning the slow process of re-dressing (starting with the soggy underwear). He had no idea how he was going to get out the flat without being caught but he was fairly sure that not doing it in the nude would be a good start.

When he finally reached his jacket, he checked his mobile and saw that he had one new message.

_Authorise my access to the cold case archives. SH_

Greg rubbed his face in annoyance before replying.

_I’ve told you before. No._

_Oh, I rather think you’ve changed your mind. SH_

_Why? What did you do?_

_It’s really more a matter of what I didn’t do. SH_

_AND?_

_I didn’t come upstairs five minutes ago. SH_

Greg paused before staring in resigned horror at the floor. He then looked at John, realised that a stupid smile was creeping in at the corner of his mouth, and put his head in his hands.

_Fine. Any chance you’ll keep not doing that?_

_Planning a return visit already? Interesting. SH_

_I believe that now is the appropriate time to question you about your intentions regarding my flatmate. SH_

_And no, I’m not joking. Meet me downstairs in five minutes (preferably with your clothes on). SH_

Greg looked down at John and sighed. 

“It’s a good thing you’re pretty,” he said, and bent to kiss him lightly on the forehead before heading downstairs to meet his fate.


End file.
